


a modern day christmas carol

by acidtowns



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A Christmas Carol AU, M/M, This is so cliche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidtowns/pseuds/acidtowns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three spirits visit Levi on Christmas Eve to tell him to get his life together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a modern day christmas carol

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for junkbyshiru as part of the ereri secret santa exchange! **please ignore all glaring errors because i rushed through proofreading this oop

.

.

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**PART I: ERWIN’S GHOST**

Erwin is dead.

He’s been dead for some time now, yet his family name still sits on the plaque that honors him and his father for running one of the most successful companies in the country:  _Smith & Smith’s Collections_. Now that the last of the first Smith in “Smith & Smith” had passed away in a tragic accident (car crash at four in the morning, it was the drunk driver’s fault), the other Smith has full-reigns over the company, and well, ever since then, the company has gotten better and worse. More creditors are enlisting in their help to contact debtors, because other Smith (Levi refuses to call him simply “Smith,” because that’s Erwin) has abolished that one rule that protect debtors from constant harassment. The collectors can now call any time, and since their company is one of the largest that stabilizes the economy, the government can’t tell them no.

Erwin is dead, and Levi hates his job.

His hours used to be eight to two with an hour lunch break in the middle, but ever since other Smith took over, his hours are now four to twelve with a thirty-minutes break for dinner. No extra pay, just extra hours. Christmas is tomorrow, but no one gets the day off today. Nearly half of the workers here called in sick this morning — they wanted to spend the holidays with their families, which he supposes is understandable — but he doesn’t have any family to spend Christmas with, so he decides it won’t hurt to come in today. Except it kind of does.

“Good evening. This is the Smith & Smith's Collection Agency calling to remind you of —”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? It’s fucking Christmas  _Eve_. Don’t you guys get a break or something? Get a life. Jesus.”  _Click_.

He stays on the phone, listening to the extended  _beeeeeep_  that follows being hung up on. This is what he has to deal with, and as the night goes on, it gets progressively worse. Sometimes they would hang up before he could utter anything more than “Smith & Smith's Collection Agency.” Sometimes they would tell him that they would be praying for him. When dinner time rolls around, he swears he has gone deaf from all the screaming on the other side of the line. But this is what he has to deal with, so he has to deal with it.

This is the third time this week he has taken dinner to-go. Usually, he would bring his dinner — saves him a trip down nine floors and across the streets where restaurants and cafes sit, brimming with their mutli-colored Christmas lights — but today, he didn’t feel like having a ham, lettuce, and tomato sandwich for dinner again. So he goes to a sub shop and buys himself a  _professionally_  made ham, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. He gets cheddar cheese and onions with that to reassure himself that he’s not wasting money on something he can make at home.

By time he gets the sandwich, he only has fifteen minutes left of his “break,” so he starts walking back — but as always, he passes this one cafe at the corner of the street. It’s called Cozy Corner Cafe, and there’s nothing special about it except that he knows someone who works there. Although,  _know_  puts their relationship in incorrect context.  _Knew_  is more like it, because they haven’t spoken in two years now. He still has that someone’s name in his phone under the nickname he had given him back in high school —  _Sunshine (Eren Jaeger)_ — but he doesn’t dare call him. He doesn’t have a reason to.

So amidst the cool breeze that runs through his hair and chills his cheeks, he turns away from the cafe and keeps on walking back to Smith & Smith’s. Back to the ninth floor. Back to his shitty cubicle where a desk covered with stacked papers — legals, requests — and a black telephone sits. He bites into his sandwich, and finds it bland. There’s nothing amazing about it, because it’s the same thing he’s been eating for the past couple of months. When Erwin was around, they would sometimes go out to dinner — him, Erwin, and occasionally Hanji and Mike — but after that car accident, everything has become dull.

At nine, Hanji calls him and invites him to her annual Christmas party that's tomorrow. She tells him it’s going to be spectacular — the best party she has ever thrown. In his usual monotonous voice (he has only raised his voice once, and after that, never again), he responds that he doesn’t celebrate Christmas. She pleads him, reminds him that he hasn’t been to  _any_  of her Christmas parties (“ _and I’ve had four_!”), but he firmly turns her down again, then proceeds to hang up because he’s not supposed to slacking on the job.

Hanji doesn’t call back, and for some reason, Levi wishes she would. He knows he’ll never go to her parties — socializing at social gatherings aren’t exactly his forte — but he kind of likes being invited. It goes to show that someone has thought about him, even if that someone is as annoying and persistent as Hanji.

The rest of the night is uneventful. He makes his calls as scheduled, and when the hands on the clock strike twelve, he gathers his belongings — cellphone, car keys, trash he needs to throw away — and heads on out. People wish him a Merry Christmas, and other Smith himself tells him to have a “good one” tomorrow. To all those, he bids them a good night and nothing more.

He doesn’t know when his life became so dissatisfactory. When he was younger, he had so many dreams — so many ambitions — but as he grew, those dreams and ambitions turned into fantasies, and in its finality, wishes. He’s perfectly content, though, or so he thinks. He has a nice apartment, clothes, food. He’s alive and filled to the brim with contentedness. No need for happiness, because happiness never lasts anyway. Why disappoint himself?

The thought lingers with him as he unlocks the door to his apartment — swept clean and kept simple, just like his life — and steps in. He sheds his coat and shoes at the entrance, then continues to strip for the shower. Fifteen minutes later, he dries himself off and pulls on his pajamas. As he starts towards his bed, he stops by the window and looks out to see a brightly shining star sitting atop the tallest Christmas tree in the city.  _At this time twenty years ago_ , he muses,  _I would be waiting for Santa_. But he has learned since then that Santa does not exist. Why he’s remembering this now, he does know, but in the middle of his reminiscence, he hears a knock.

It’s probably Hanji.

No one else would visit him this late.

He looks through the peep-hole to confirm that the person knocking is Hanji — but it’s not. It’s someone else — someone with blond hair and blue eyes and —

For him to see Erwin,  _Erwin_  who has been dead for months now, must mean that he’s tired.

Not thinking much of it, he steps away from the door and returns to bed. The knocking doesn’t come, but some time later, a voice does.

“Levi.”

It’s a voice that’s far too familiar that when he hears it, he doesn’t think of a proper response other than “What is it, Erwin?” And when that name leaves his lips, he jolts awake and turns in the direction he heard Erwin’s voice from. He must have gone insane, because accompanying that familiar drawl is Erwin himself — but it’s not really Erwin; Levi can tell from the glowing lines that surround Erwin’s figure and the dark clouds that shadow his pale features.

Levi closes his eyes, pulls up the blanket to his nose, and tries going back to sleep, but Erwin calls him again, and he has no other choice but to face him in his ghostly presence.

“Get up,” Erwin says.

“You’re not real.”

“ _Get up_.”

With a huff and a shuffle, he throws the cover off and gets out of bed. Now, he doesn’t believe in ghosts or spirits or the likes, but he believes in what he sees, and what he sees is Erwin’s ghastly form standing in front of him as if they had never parted.

“Do you see these?” Erwin asks, shaking his raised wrists so that the chains clutched tight around them rattle. “These are chains.”

“Obviously.”

Erwin ignores his offhanded comment and proceeds to explain, “I’m bound to this earth as a vengeful spirit. Do you know why?”

Levi narrows his eyes on the chains before shaking his head. This is all child’s play, but he’ll tag along because it’s Erwin — and well, he respects Erwin, so ghost or not, he listens to him, because this may be the last time he gets to hear his voice.

“I was unhappy. Every day, I woke up dreading work. Every night, I wished I had done something productive — something more than what I was expected to do. When I got into that car accident, my last thoughts reflected consistent regret. I didn’t want to die, because I hadn’t lived, and you — you’re going to end up like this, like me, if you don’t realize this soon.”

He turns and brings his arm out front so the chain lies at Levi’s feet. “The first chain holds my childhood charms.” Levi crouches down to examine the small trinkets, and as he does, Erwin continues to explain, “The first one is firetruck, because I wanted to be a firefighter after one saved me from a burning building. I wanted to save people — wanted to be their hero — but I only became their enemy.” He goes quiet for a moment before tugging his chain to the middle where a silver diploma jingles. “I wanted to make something of myself, so I studied to become a doctor. Another hero. But my father — at that time, Smith & Smith's was already on top, and since Father’s partner had died earlier, Father was put in charge. He told me that, once he passed away, I’ll take over the company with Smith’s son. We were the same age.”

As close as they were, Erwin had never told him any of this before. Levi knows, at the most, that Erwin graduated from college with a degree in psychology, but not once did Erwin mention his ambitions. He always walked into work cheerful, and he always left with a warm farewell — Levi thought he had the perfect life, but by the looks of all these charms clipped to both chains, he now understands that Erwin’s life was anything but perfect.

“When father died, I dropped my studies and took over the company. I’ve been miserable ever since.” His hands fall to his sides as he lifts his head to look Levi straight in the eye. “Do you want to be miserable, Levi?”

The corners of Levi's mouth tighten as he stares hard at — through — Erwin.  _Do you want to be miserable_? What kind of question is that? Why would  _anyone_ want to be miserable?

“No,” he answers briskly, “but I’m content with my life. I have a job, a place, clothes —”

The sound of Erwin’s chains rattling silences him and reminds him that Erwin, too, had a job, a place, clothes, food — everything a person needs to survive. But not necessarily live.

“Within the next six hours, three spirits will visit you. The first one will come at two, the second at four, and the third at six before the sun rises.” His smile starts to fade, and Levi realizes, seconds thereafter, that Erwin’s drifting off, that his face is becoming one with the wall and that his chains are trailing him out.

He opens his mouth, calls out “Wait!” but Erwin tells him “goodbye” and a moment later, a cold gust of wind sweeps through the empty room. He turns around, half-expecting Erwin to be sitting on his bed, but he’s not there.

.

.

.

**PART II: THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST**

_A dream_?

Levi turns back and finds a face right up against his. Startled by the sudden presence, he falls down with an uncharacteristic yelp.

Standing there, in the same place Erwin had stood, is a young girl with red hair and bright green eyes. She laughs. “You should’ve  _seen_  your face,” she says between gasps of breath. “It was priceless.”

With a scoff, he gets up and dusts himself off (not that there would be any dust on him, he wiped this place down this past weekend). She continues laughing throughout as he turns and heads on back to bed, because Erwin’s orders or not, he’s too tired for this. But of course, before he could climb back into his blankets, she stops him.

“Hold up! Didn’t Erwin tell you I was coming?”

Levi grunts.

“Are you listening to me? Come on!” She pops up in front of him, but this time, Levi has learned his lesson, so he doesn’t fall back or yelp. Her cheeks puff out, apparently unimpressed by his lack of enthusiasm, but after some time, she lets the air in her cheeks go to say, “I’m Isabel, the Ghost of Christmas Past!”

“The what?”

She leans closer to him. “The Ghost of Christmas Past. You know, the one Erwin told you about.”

“Erwin didn’t tell me anything.”

It takes a moment for that to register, but when it finally does, she folds her arms across her chest and falls back onto his bed. His nose crinkles at the sight of her ghostly figure sprawled across the sheets he had just washed two days ago. Even though he’s sure that ghosts don’t have any body odor, he still doesn’t like the idea of someone lying on his bed.

“ _Of course_ , Erwin didn’t tell you. He always forgets to mention me, even though I’m pretty important.” She rocks herself up into a sitting position, and Levi tries his best to ignore the peeving sight of her dirty, battered shoes on his sheets. “ _I’m going to show you the past_ ," she sings, mimicking the tune to that one Aladdin song.

“I don’t want to see it.”

She narrows his eyes on him. “You’re a toughie, huh? I bet you weren’t so tough back then. Come on, come on.” Her arms flail out as she moves to stand on the bed. Then, from there, she extends a hand to him. “Take my hand.”

“No.”

“Why do you have to be so stubborn? Just take my hand. It’s what Erwin wants.”

He stares at her, narrows his eyes on her child-like face, then reaches out and puts his fingers within hers. She grabs his hand then, and with a tug, he feels his stomach dropping as an invisible force sucks him into the earth. He doesn’t see anything for some time, but before he can actively start panicking, he lands on his feet, and Isabel drops down beside him.

“I think this is right,” she grumbles, picking herself up from the ground and patting the snow off her bottom. “What are  _you_  looking at?”

Caught, he tears his gaze away.

It doesn’t make sense. If this spirit is really a spirit, then how can the snow cling to her clothes like that? He doesn’t have to be a scientist like Hanji to know that that’s not how things work. Then again — ghosts aren’t real, and snow’s supposed to be cold.

At that thought, his gaze drops down to his feet where his toes wiggle underneath the thick layer of white. He feels the snow on his skin, but it’s not cold — not cold at all. He looks over at Isabel, expecting her to explain this abnormality, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s not even looking at him. Instead, she’s peering around, looking for something —

“Ah! There it is! I knew I came to the right place.” She grabs his sleeve and starts tugging him in a certain direction.

Refusal sits on his tongue for some time, but when he sees a distinctly familiar building, he swallows his refusal. They trudge through the blanket of snow, and when they arrive at the foot of the entrance-way, they stop.

“Why did you bring me here?” Levi asks, peering up at the large sign that reads  _Trost Elementary School_  in bold letters.

“You’ll see.” Isabel waves her hand and the door swings open, but instead of opening into a long hallway like it’s supposed to, it opens into a classroom. A classroom he immediately recognizes as his first grade room.

Isabel takes a step in, but he stops her with a hushed, “ _Won’t they see us_?” to which she laughs and tells him that they’re both spirits, so the kids won’t see them at all. She warns him to be careful not to touch anything, though, because she doesn’t know what consequence would follow if he does. So he’s cautious as he tails her into the room where a young girl stands in front of the class, holding up a crown and telling her peers that she wants to be a princess when she grows up. While she explains why, Levi skims the audience. The first few rows of students look on eagerly, sucking up every word that drips from her sweet as sugar voice. In contrast, a couple of students in the back are fast asleep, and in the corner —  _there he is_.

His younger self sits in isolation with his palm propping his head up as he stares forward, bored and obviously unimpressed by this entire show and tell ordeal.

“I remember this,” Levi says just as the class starts applauding the wannabe princess for her well thought out speech. “I went next.”

“Thank you, Petra.” Mrs. A marks  _Petra_  off the board. “And next we have Levi.”

As his six-year-old self stands up and starts making his way towards the front, Petra sits down and smooths out her dress.

“She doesn’t wear dresses any more,” Levi says suddenly. “Hasn’t worn one since senior prom.”

Isabel quirks an eyebrow. “So she wears pants now?”

“No.” He turns his attention back to his younger self. “Scrubs.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grow up, so I asked Papa.” His younger self holds up a sketchbook and opens it to the page with a crayon drawing of two people holding hands. “He said he wanted to get married and eat steak every day. I asked him  _why steak_ , and he said that’s what makes him happy. So I ..” When he begins to drift off, his classmates starts to snicker and whisper under their breaths. He tenses under their heated gaze, but when Mrs. A urges him to continue, he frowns and clears his throat. The soft chatter stops. “So I drew this. This is me. This is Papa.”

“You want to marry your  _dad_  when you grow up?” a boy asks. “That’s gross!”

“I don’t want to marry Papa! I just want to — I just want to be with him. Because he makes me happy. And when I grow up, I want to be happy.”

“How can you be happy when you never smile?”

The classroom erupts with laughter, and though Mrs. A tries her best to calm them down, the damage has already been done.

Levi stands there and watches his younger self close his sketchbook before walking back to his seat with his head bowed in shame. When Mrs. A calls the next student up, he hears a sniffle come from the corner where his six-year-old self sits in solitude.

“Well, aren’t they a bunch of jerks.” Isabel plants her hands on her hips. “Let’s go see something better.”

Levi cannot be any more relieved to get out of there. First grade was a rough year for him, since he just moved from the country to the city, and well, things were different. Everyone liked sticking their nose in other people’s business, and if one person knew something, then a day later, everyone would know. He didn’t have many friends at first, but over time, he became close with Petra (she wasn’t as spoiled as he thought she was), Auruo (he was surprisingly more spoiled than Petra), Erd, and Gunther. He lost contact with all of them after high school.

Speaking of high school — they’re at Trost High now, and Isabel’s tugging him towards the restrooms.

“Wait, Isabel —”

“I  _like_  you, Levi.”

He remembers this. He remembers this  _clearly_.

“Don’t you understand?” Sixteen-year-old Eren nudges Levi’s seventeen-year-old self back into the restroom wall. “ _I like you a lot_.”

His younger self looks off to the side. “We’re late for class,” he mutters, keeping his eyes level with the floor to avoid Eren’s penetrating ones.

“I don’t care about class. I care about  _you_. You told me you liked me, and then you ignore me for days. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

“Lower your voice.”

“I won’t. Not until you give me an answer. I just need to know what’s going on. You didn’t return any of my calls, so I thought -- actually, I didn't know know what to think!  _Please_  tell me what’s going on, because I’m really confused.”

His younger self lifts his head, but his eyes still stray elsewhere. “I thought you were disgusted,” he says. “You made this face. I don’t know how to describe it. But it looked like you were angry, so I thought —”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to say anything! You just walked off and started ignoring me and I — I wasn’t angry. You misread me. I was just — relieved, because I’ve liked you for a long time, but I thought you didn’t feel the same way, so when you told me you did ..” Eren sucks in a breath and takes a step back. “You make me happy. Do you understand now?  _You’ve always made me happy_.”

Levi knows what happens next, so he looks away. Beside him, Isabel shifts into his view. “Why are you looking away? It’s about to get interesting, look!” He tells himself not to, but he looks anyway, and he sees his younger self cupping Eren’s cheeks and bringing their mouths together. It’s disgustingly sweet. He can’t believe they were this dramatic back then — and it doesn’t help the sweetness any when his younger self pulls back ever so slightly to mutter “ _you make me happy too_."

“Can we go?” Levi asks, turning away but not before catching Eren’s hand slipping up his younger self’s shirt.

“But it’s getting interesting —”

“ _Can we go_?”

Isabel grumbles something under her breath before grabbing his hand, and again he feels himself being sucked into the earth. When his feet hit the ground once more, he’s standing under a tree, and not too far off, he sees his twenty-two year old self with twenty-one year old Eren. Eren is fuming, his hands clench and unclench, and he’s flushed in the face. His younger self looks calm, composed — apathetic to Eren's apparent agitation.

“No,” Levi says, turning to Isabel. “I don’t want to see this.”

Instead of responding, she walks closer to the pair, and Levi has no other option but to follow.

“Take me back, Isabel.”

She shakes her head, and that’s when he starts tuning into the argument that’s happening a couple of feet away.

“You know,  _that_ ’s your problem, Levi. You never tell me what you want, and I don’t know if you know this, but you’re not easy to read. I never know when you’re upset or if you don’t care — hell, I don’t even know if you’re upset now, because it seems like I’m the only one upset here. And I don’t know, maybe it’s my fault, maybe I didn’t realize before or whatever but — we’ve been together for six years now, and I still feel like I don’t know you. And you know what else? I feel like I’m the only one trying here.  _I’m_  the ones making the calls and arranging dinner plans and fuck,  _I_  have to study for finals too. Just because I’m an art major, doesn’t make me any less of a student. I don’t even know what classes you’re taking! I just know that you hate all your professors and you made an 80 on the last test, and I just — I just —”

Eren runs his hand through his hair and sighs.

“Can you say something?  _Anything_?”

“Say something.” Levi doesn’t register that he whispered that until Isabel looks over at him, as if asking for an explanation. He doesn’t give one, because the scene unfolding in front of them explains enough.

“How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking if you don’t tell me? If I did something wrong, then  _tell me_. — Did I do something wrong? Was it something I said?”

“— No.”

“Then what is it?” Eren’s chest heaves as he waits for an answer — an answer that never comes. “See? That’s what you do! I ask you something, and you don’t let me in! I want this to work between us, but lately you’ve been so distant. I don’t know what’s going on with you, because you don’t talk to me about it, so I’m always left in the dark, and I hate not knowing what’s going on with you. I care about you, and if this is something that concerns me, then tell me.  _Please_. — No, don’t look away. Look at me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

His younger self doesn’t move, doesn’t even speak.

And  _that_  tips Eren over the edge.

“I want to keep trying, but I don’t want to be the only one trying. I want you to have a voice in the things we do. You can’t keep giving me a ‘whatever you want’ or a ‘you choose,’ because  _that’s not how relationships work_. I want you to tell me what you want. I’ll give you anything — whether it’s sex, or space, or time — I’ll give it to you if you just  _ask_ , but you never ask. Sometimes I feel like I’m bothering you, but I don’t know if I am, because you keep that damn straight face all the time, and it kind of really pisses me off. I’m just letting you know —”

“Then maybe we should take a break.”

With seven words, his younger self silences Eren, and with those seven words, they  _break_.

“You want to break up,” Eren says slowly.

“No, I said we should take a break.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not.”

“What difference would it make?”

His younger self shifts in place and folds his arms over his chest. “Taking a break means not going out for a month or two.”

“But that’s not the problem. The problem is that you don’t tell me what you want.”

“Then let’s break up.”

Eren opens his mouth to retaliate, but once those words settle, he clamps his mouth shut. Seeing there's nothing more to say, his younger self turns and starts walking off when Eren blurts out, “Were you happy?”

His younger self stops in his tracks. “I was,” he says. “You weren’t.”

Isabel touches Levi's hand then, and they’re pulled back into his bedroom. He steadies himself against his bed, and when he finally gathers stability, he lifts his head to acknowledge her.

“What did you mean by ‘I was, you weren’t?’” she asks, her usual happy expression overshadowed by furrowed eyebrows and a frown.

“I knew he wasn’t happy.” He takes a seat on the edge of his bed and Isabel follows suit. “He wanted commitment, and I couldn’t give him that. I feared losing him, but I ended up losing him anyway.”

“Relationships are weird,” Isabel says, flopping back onto his bed.

 _Weird_ , indeed.

He had never been the affectionate type, and that’s because his fear held him back. He worried about getting too attached and being too happy, because he knew relationships and happiness didn’t last forever. His father, the man his six-year-old self clung to for happiness, died when he was ten. It came as a shock. He thought his old man would live forever and their happiness would be eternal — so when reality hit, he couldn’t get over it.

And then Eren came along, became his sunshine, his everything —  _made him so happy_  — and he knew he couldn’t lose him. Thing was, he was already well-acquainted with reality. As years passed, their relationship progressively got worse. He became withdrawn, said “sure” to everything Eren wanted to do. Never told Eren what he wanted, because he thought that, as long as Eren was happy, so was he.

He should have known better.

Now, it’s too late.

.

.

.

**PART III: THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT**

The clock chimes four, and when he looks for Isabel, he finds her gone. On his right, the sheets lie, untouched, unbothered. There’s no indication that she’s been here, so this could all be a dream —  _who is he kidding_? Of course, he’s dreaming. There’s no such thing as spirits or ghosts, and Erwin is dead.

Though he clings to that reasoning, he reaches out to the space next to him and presses his palm flat against the bed’s surface. It's warm — as if a person’s been there for some time now. While he ponders over whether ghosts emit heat or not (that would surely explain why the snow didn’t feel cold in-between his toes), he feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand.

Someone’s watching him, and he’s not entirely sure if he wants to find out who it is. The night’s been a chilling experience so far. Erwin visiting, Isabel showing him his past — he’s a simple man; he doesn’t think about complexity. But complexity always ends up finding him in the end.

“I’m Farlan,” a slim, male figure says when Levi peers over and catches him leaning against the window with his arms folded across his chest. “The Ghost of Christmas Present.”

Levi eases off his bed and takes a wary step in Farlan’s direction. “You’re going to show me my present?” With the uncertain lull in his tone, it’s apparent that he’s ill-prepared for what this Ghost of Christmas Present will show him. He already knows everything about his present, because he’s living in it right now — so what's the point?

“No,” Farlan says, correcting him before he runs admiss with his confusion. “Not your present.” He then raises his hand, and beside him, the window flings open. Winter winds tear through the small bedroom and bite at Levi’s exposed cheeks. “Might want to grab a coat and some slippers.”

This is all so ridiculous. He should just go back to bed and say “ _bah, humbug_ ” to Farlan and whatever ghost that follows him, but a part of him wants to know what  _not your present_  means. It’s that curiosity, that taste for adventure — for something  _different_  — that urges him to pull on a coat and tuck his feet in some slippers. He then steps up next to Farlan, and when Farlan tells him to grab his arm, he does so accordingly and the next thing he knows, he’s flying.

A mountain’s breath has nothing on soaring through the clouds on a cold December night. He’s frozen to the bone (almost wishes that Farlan had told him to double up on coats), but when they land in front of a fireplace in someone’s home, he feels heat kissing his fingertips and letting its warmth spread throughout his body. He shivers for a moment, but when the owner of this house steps into the living room, his body ceases to react.

It’s Hanji.

He can’t believe he didn’t recognize her house. He’s been here once before, years ago, but he would have thought to remember something like this. Apparently not, though.

She seems jumpy. When the doorbell ring, she checks her watch, reaches over to the coffee table and turns on a CD player, and while it starts singing  _Jingle Bells_ , she hurries over to the door and flings it open.

“Moblit! Just in time!” She rushes him in and takes his coat. “Do you want some coffee? Hot chocolate? I even went out of my way to get your favorite tea.”

“Tea’s fine,” Moblit says, smiling as he slips off his shoes. “Sure is cold out. There’s some ice on the roads, so I suspect the others would be a bit late. Here’s the gift for the Secret Santa Exchange, by the way.” He moves over to the coffee table to set the neatly wrapped present next to the music player before turning to Hanji to accept the cup of tea she has poured for him.

“Hanji has always been hospitable,” Levi mutters.

Whether Farlan heard him or not, he doesn’t acknowledge his words, so Levi looks on as Hanji shifts the music player over to make room for more gifts. When the doorbell rings again, she’s up on her feet to greet the par of people who have carpooled on over. He recognizes them as Petra, Auruo, Erd, and Gunther respectively — a quartet he would have never thought to see together, even though the four of them and him were friends once. He wonders what they’re up to now — what they’re all up to now. Moblit used to sit with him at lunch, and though they didn’t speak much, he was always there, serving as delightful company. Then there’s Mike. And Nile and Mary (dated since high school, everyone knew they were going to get married sooner or later). And hell, even old man Pixis, their high school math teacher.

It’s an incredible sight, seeing everyone he knows gathered around the living room and chatting away as if years and distance haven’t severed their relationships with one another. Actually, none of them look a bit uncomfortable there, and that’s when he understands that this isn’t a reunion, it’s a get together. He doesn’t know how many years have gone by since he last spoke to everyone except Hanji and Mike, but from the looks and sounds of it, they’ve all kept in contact with each other. All without him knowing.

“ _Do you think he’s coming_?”

His thoughts quiet to the sound of Petra’s hushed question to Hanji.

“I called him but — I don’t think so.”

The conversation ends there, but he can tell from Petra’s frown that she wants to say something more. He doesn’t have to wait around to hear what she has to say (if she does say anything) because he already knows:  _he never comes to anything any more_. It’s in that moment that he wishes he had accepted Hanji’s invitation, or at the very least, tell her to tell everyone else “Happy Holidays.” Thing is, he didn’t think anyone cared. He didn’t know Petra’s going to be at this party, didn’t know that everyone he and Hanji associated with in high school’s going to be here. And he surely didn’t know that people would remember him enough to ask.

It’s too late, though. He already told Hanji “no,” and with what little pride he has left, he must keep.

Farlan tells him to grab his arm then, and he does so without complaint. They fly towards the clouds again, and amongst feeling icicles form at his fingertips, they land — this time, in a bedroom. He doesn’t see anything but a bed and some clothes sprawled across the floor (how unsanitary), but when the fireplace’s light flickers, he spots the shadow of a man sitting on the ground on the other side of the bed. He peers over at Farlan, and Farlan nods, indicating that he can head on over to find out who this figure is.

There, Eren sits against the wall, legs crossed, head bowed over what seems like stacks of notebook paper.

“What is it?” Levi asks, turning to Farlan.

“Go over and see.”

Hesitance makes its presence in his steps as he walks to Eren’s side and crouches down next to him to get a clearer view of the words scrawled on the top piece of paper. At first, he makes nothing of it — he can barely read the words — but when he does, his mouth goes dry. The chicken scratch marked by infamous loops on every “Y” reflects a handwriting he knows too well.

His own.

These are his notes.

Not just his notes, though, but his notes to Eren.  _From high school_. They’ve gone through their ups and downs, their lovemaking and their spats, and they’ve been together for six years, but these notes —

Eren has kept them all these years, and he’s  _reading_  them.

“Don’t,” Levi says, reaching out to grab the sheets from Eren’s grasp, but before he can, Farlan takes a hold of his wrist and shakes his head no. Belligerent, but willing to cooperate, he jerks his hand from Farlan and watches as Eren puts the notes away in his drawer, only pull out a stack of something else.

Photos.

 _Photos of them_.

It’s been two years.

After they broke up, Levi threw out everything that resembled the relationship between them. He regrets that now, knowing that Eren has not failed to cast out one memory of what they had.

Eren looks through the photos, and at one point, he puts them aside and pulls out his phone. Levi watches closely, eyes narrowing as Eren scrolls down his list of contacts until he comes across the name “Levi.” His thumb hovers over the call button, his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched. And just when Levi thinks he’s going to call, he tosses his phone away and leans his head back into the wall. His eyes close, and his lips part to let out a breath of air.

For a while, he stays like this. Peaceful, but also pained. Levi can tell by the way his hands are clenching and unclenching that he’s over-thinking.

“Eren.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Levi sees a shadow shift into the wall’s main display.

“We’re going to be late.”

“Just give me a minute, Mikasa.”

“Armin’s waiting downstairs.”

“I know.”

She sighs, and a second later, crouches down in front of him. “You’re still thinking about him.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and just from the sheer clarity in her voice, Levi gathers that this is a recurring scene — that Eren has read their notes, looked over their pictures, and debated calling him before.

He thought it’s rather pathetic of him to walk by the cafe Eren works at every other day, but here, Eren’s showing him that it’s not so one-sided at all.

“He came by today,” Eren says. “Walked by. Didn’t come in. I thought about running after him but I —” His breath hitches as he opens his eyes. “I think I wanted too much from him.”

Mikasa takes a seat and wraps her arms around her knees. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know — I think I asked for too much. Made him uncomfortable or something.”

“But it’s not your fault.”

Eren hesitates. “Well —”

“You said you felt like it was one-sided, which means  _you_  tried.  _He_  didn’t.”

 _That’s not true_ , Levi wants to say, even though he knows inevitably, undeniably, that it is one-hundred percent true.

“He made me happy,” Eren mutters, reaching over to half-heartedly gather the photos he has set aside.

“ _Made_. He doesn’t make you happy now.” Eren opens his mouth to argue, but Mikasa shushes him with a gesture. “If he’s not willing to put in the effort, then he’s not worth it. Now, come on, let’s go. We can’t be late again.” She stands up and offers him a hand, and though Eren appears to ignore it for some time to tuck the photos away and gather his phone, he eventually grabs it and lets her help him onto his feet.

“Thanks.”

Her lips curve into a small smile. “Just looking out for you.”

As the last of their presence slips through the door, Levi stands up and turns to Farlan.

“I didn’t know.”

In all honestly, he doesn’t believe either. Sure, they’ve been together for more years than one hand can count, but it’s been two years since that fight and well — he was so certain that that was the end of any relationship they could have. Then again, is it really that hard to believe?  _He_ ’s the one who walks by the cafe, oftentimes stopping when Eren’s busy making coffee for customers.  _He_ ’s the one who still holds on after all this time, and he has little doubt that his lingering presence outside the coffee shop is what prompted Eren to dig into the notes and pictures he had long locked away.

“There’s one more thing I have to show you,” Farlan says, extending an arm to him.

Levi wants to tell him that he doesn’t want to see any more — that he’s seen enough, but he wraps his fingers around Farlan’s arm anyway, and he lets Farlan take him high over towers until they’re standing in his work cubicle. What comes next nips at his sanity. A dark, somewhat disheveled, figure walks into the cubicle and sits down in the seat he always sits in. He then picks up the phone, finger skimming the stacks of papers in front of him, and dials an unknown number.

“Good evening. This is the Smith & Smith's Collection Agency —”

It’s him.

He can barely believe  _this_  when the scene changes again, and he’s at the sandwich shop, grabbing dinner. Then they’re back in the cubicle as his other self eats the sandwich and makes more calls.

“What is this, Farlan?” he asks, lips twitching as someone on the other end of the line starts yelling.

“You’ll see.”

He watches, lips pressed firm now, as his mirror image yawns, gets up, and exits. Moments later, he comes back in, this time in a blue button-up shirt instead of a white one, and sits down. He answers the phone. Eats the sandwich he made from home. Continues calling. Then leaves. When he comes back, he’s back to wearing a white button-up, but this time with a blue and gray tie instead of the red paisley one from before. He sits down. Calls. Eats at one point. Leaves. It repeats, and with every entrance, Levi notices the bags under his eyes getting progressively darker -- but that’s not what bothers him most.

“Good evening. This is the Smith & Smith's —” He sounds tired, but he powers through his opening line before making the required adjustments to satisfy each debtor. “— by the 24th of this month, else you’ll be penalized for dismissing your statement.”

When his other self enters the office for the umpteenth time, Farlan turns to him and asks, “Are you happy?”

He takes in his surrounding — his other self purchasing a sandwich, then trudging through the winter chills to get back to work.

“No,” he replies. Firm.  _Sure_. “I’m not.”

He turns around to say something more, but Farlan’s gone without a whisper goodbye, and in his place, a figure cloaked in black floats towards him. His mouth parts to scream for help, but before he can, the figure envelopes him in its darkness and yanks him from the cold.

.

.

.

**PART IV: THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS YET TO COME**

A chill travels down his spine and sparks shivers up his frame. He’s back in his cubicle, watching an unfamiliar figure pick up the phone, then hang up moments quickly thereafter. The man barely speaks, and when he does, his voice sounds strained — robotic, almost. “Good evening. This is the Smith & Smith's Collection Agency calling to remind you of ..” His face reflects no particular emotion other than the neutral one that, against the office’s fluorescent lights, enhances the dark circles and hollow cheeks. When he leans back against the seat and his bangs fall out of his eyes, Levi stares.

It’s a ghost.

Not like Erwin, Isabel, or Farlan, no — but a real ghost, a man manned by repetition and contentedness. His eyes are empty, and with his ashen skin clinging to his cheekbones and thin lips, he looks very much dead. At the stroke of eight, the man stands, pulls on his coat, and limps his way out of the cubicle. Levi takes a step forward to follow him out, but abruptly stops when the man returns with what appears to be a sandwich from that all-time-favorite sub shop. He sits, takes a bite of the sandwich, then picks up the phone to make another call. As call by call goes by, Levi’s stomach starts clenching.

“Is this my future?” he asks the phantom figure residing next to him.

The hooded ghost doesn’t speak but raises its hand and points at the older Levi.

He turns back and gathers all there is to see. Himself. Shy of forty, perhaps fifty if he’s really pushing it. Working for Smith & Smith’s Collection Agency. Skin and bones. Still eating sandwiches. He has doubts that this is his future, because who the hell eats sandwiches for twenty years straight?  _Not him_ , he thinks, even though he has eaten more sandwiches than needed in the past two years. And it’s not like he’s going to be working for other Smith for this long — right? He hates his job, has always hated it, so he knows he’ll switch careers eventually.

Eventually.

When is  _eventually_? If this is his future, then eventually isn’t anytime soon.

That makes him feel wronged, as if he’s been cheated. This isn’t his life. It  _won’t_  be his life. He might not make any changes now, because he’s perfectly content (or so he supposes -- he’s beginning to have second thoughts). Besides, he knows himself. If he’s dissatisfied with something, he’ll change it. He’s no slave to misery.

Holding onto that somewhat optimistic mindset, Levi watches his older self hang up the phone and then, without a stuttered step or a moment’s break, he gets up and leaves. This time, Levi follows him out, and when he does, he tunes into the silence. Everyone minds their business; they don’t even lift their heads when his older self hobbles by. This bothers him for some odd reason, but before he can figure out why, the scene shifts to a crowded living room.

It takes him not one but two seconds to recognize everyone loitering about. At first glance, all the happy, youthful faces surrounding the fireplace seem unfamiliar to him, but when a gruff voice calls out to one of them, and that one looks up, he sees it — the almond-shaped eyes, the turned-up nose, the red hair.

“Petunia, darling. Come here,” the gruff voice says again, and when Levi lifts his gaze to see the owner of such voice, he takes in the balding man’s face.

Auruo.

“Yes, Papa.”

 _Papa_?

The redheaded girl stands and smooths out her Christmas party dress. She then runs her fingers through her long hair, and with a slight tug to her necklace (to make sure it’s still there, he assumes), she makes her way over to Auruo.

“We want to take a family picture,” Auruo says, putting a hand at the middle of her back and leading her towards the kitchen. “Make sure to smile big.”

Levi doesn’t bother asking the phantom for directions anymore; he follows the two into the kitchen where a bunch of flashes are going off simultaneously. When they arrive, a middle-aged woman with cropped red hair gestures at the two of them, and when she calls out their names, Levi makes the connection between her voice and the voice that once told everyone that she wanted to be a princess.

A lump settles at the base of his throat as he turns his attention to the others milling around. He recognizes Hanji immediately; she looks the exact same, save her thicker rimmed glasses and her wrinkles when she grins. Beside her is Moblit, who has an arm around a woman Levi does not know. On the other side of the kitchen is Erd and another unknown woman. Two little ones stand next to them — one a spitting image of the Erd Levi knew in elementary school, and the other seemingly adopted, considering her darker skin.

Gunther and Pixis are no where in sight. He doesn’t need to ask about them, because as time passes, he finds out bits and pieces of information.

Pixis is in the hospital. Gunther passed away due to cancer, and his son comes to Hanji’s Christmas parties in his place. Mike has moved across the country with his wife of ten years. Nile and Mary just had their first grandchild. Hanji is still living alone in the comforts of her own house, and she has no complaints other than everyone doesn’t visit her enough.

Gunther’s wife has remarried (and by the sounds of it, no one knows much about her other than her name and the fact that she’s a supermodel). His son is in law school. Mike’s wife stays at home, and they’re both trying for a baby, but so far, no luck. Nile’s still a douchebag. Mary’s still the sweetest woman Levi has ever had the pleasure to meet. All three of their children are grown — the first has a family, the second is a medical practitioner, the third’s hanging on. Their grandchild’s middle name is Nile.

They talk and they talk and amidst their talking, the scene changes again.

He’s now standing in the middle of a sparsely populated cafe. To the left, a family of four chats among themselves. To the right, a couple laughs. Directly in front of him sits a lonely man with thinning black hair and an even thinner complexion. His fingers hover over the cup of coffee Levi suspects has been there for some time now. He stares out the window, and in his reflection, Levi sees himself. His older self.

The couple to his right laughs again, and it’s then that he realizes that he’s in a  _cafe_. Not any cafe, though, but  _the_  cafe. In his moment of sudden epiphany, he turns around to face the counter. He knows what — or  _who_  — he hopes to see, but when his sights land on a young female with features resembling a real life Barbie doll, disappointment crushes his hopes.

He’s too late.

The scene changes once more, and this time, he’s in a dimly lit bedroom. The similar position of the bed and the drawer tells him that this is Eren’s room, but something’s off. Picture frames hang around the room, and faces detailing the growth of three individuals fill them all. He paces around to observe these faces, and at the last one — he stops. This one doesn’t show Eren, Mikasa, and Armin; instead, it shows Eren down on one knee, holding a ring up to a man whose eyes are lit up with delight.

A heavy weight settles in Levi’s chest as he turns about to look at the drawer. Just years ago — or well, twenty years ago, he supposes — Eren was here, digging through the drawer for notes and photographs. And now, a picture of two men grinning (one is Eren, the other, he doesn’t recognize) sits atop that same drawer.

He doesn’t know what overcomes him then. Mind blurred and heart ablaze, he yanks open the top drawer — the one with the notes and photographs — and finds it empty. Completely empty. He slams that one shut and opens the one underneath it. Condoms. Lube. No notes. No photographs.

Eren has moved on.

He’s too late.

 _Eren has moved on_.

No.

It’s not just Eren, it’s  _everyone_. Everyone has moved on. No one at Hanji’s party mentioned him, not even once. At work — he now understands why the silence bothered him when his older self hobbled out;  _it’s because no one bid him a farewell_. No one called his name. No one knew him. Life had moved on.

With this shocking revelation, he turns to the cloaked figure just in time to see it push back its hood.

“Do you want to be miserable?” the phantom asks.

His lips part to answer, but with his mouth dry, he can only stare. Does he want to be miserable? No, he doesn’t.

He doesn’t want this — doesn’t want to be a slave to repetition. Doesn’t want to be just content. Doesn’t want to be forgotten. For years, he tried so hard to make Eren — to make  _everyone_  — stay, but in the end, his fear of being left behind inevitably made everyone turn their backs to him. He doesn’t want that.

“No,” he says, words cracking. “I don’t want to be miserable, Erwin.”

Erwin smiles, then with a steady hand, he reaches over and touches Levi’s forehead.

.

.

.

**PART V: THE END OF IT**

He jolts awake. While his eyes are still adjusting to the bright light streaming through his window on his left, he takes a moment to take in his surroundings. He’s back in his bedroom — back in bed.

 _A dream_?

Yes.

His eyes search the room in rapid movements, but after seeing that everything’s in place, he slumps back into the blankets that cradle him. There, he tunes into his drumming heart, and among its steady beats, he hears his last words:  _I don’t want to be miserable, Erwin_.

That’s enough incentive to get him out of bed and onto his feet. The floor is warm when he walks across it, but what warms him is looking into the mirror and seeing himself. His present self. 

That means he has time.

Time has never been important to him, because every day repeats itself. In the morning, he wakes up. Eats. Goes to work. Eats. Comes home. Day by day, month by month, year by year — he didn’t realize how systematic he had become.

Until now.

And  _now_ , time is precious, because he doesn’t have all the time in the world, no. He only has the amount of time his life allots, and that’s not enough time to do the things he wants to do. So he has to start  _now_.

He only has one life, after all.

So he heads back into his room and picks up the phone. He calls other Smith, and when other Smith picks up, he turns to the window, and says, “I quit.”

For moments thereafter, silence sits on both lines. He doesn’t know what other Smith’s thinking, since it’s Christmas Day and he’s calling this early (seven in the morning, according to his clock), but he lets the silence talk. He doesn’t recant his words, doesn’t apologize for calling at such an ungodly hour. And when other Smith finally comes back to tell him “okay,” he can’t help but let a small smile perk at the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you.” A pause. “Have a Merry Christmas.”

When he hangs up, he feels that heavy weight lift from his chest, from his shoulders and from his tongue. He feels the chains loosening around his wrists, and he feels every burden starting to strip away.

He gets dressed after that, but this time, when he throws open his closet door, he whisks past the carefully ironed button-ups and ties and walks to the corner where a number of (dumb) sweaters Hanji bought him every Christmas hang. He goes through each one and eventually settles for the maroon sweater that reads “DASHING THRU THE SNOW, GET OUT OF MY WAY.” It’s the only one that doesn’t have bells or words that would defeat the purpose of this being a Christian holiday. He then puts on a coat, because he still has some reputation to uphold.

On regular days, he would usually grab breakfast from his fridge and read the morning newspaper, but today, he decides to go out. It’s a change chided by hesitance, yet he pushes those blundering thoughts aside. He’s starting anew, and to start anew, he needs to change.

As he walks to get breakfast, he pulls out his cell phone (the damn thing still works, even though he doesn’t call anyone, and no one calls him), and dials Hanji. It rings one, two, three times before she answers in a groggy voice that hints that she was sleeping.

“I’m coming over,” he says. Proper greeting is out of the question because it’s fucking Hanji.

“Wait — what? Levi? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He stops in front of the cafe and turns his back to the window before his curiosity lets him peek. “Your Christmas party tonight,” he reiterates. “What time does it start?”

There’s some shuffling and then a loud thud that sounds a lot like Hanji falling out of bed. He doesn’t need to ask if she’s okay, because her yell of excitement tells him that she cares more about him coming over than her physical health. “Ow — seven! Ow, ow — it starts at seven! Hold up, you’re not pulling my leg, right? Are you really Levi? The Levi I know?”

“I’m wearing one of your dumb sweaters.”

“Are you  _sure_  you’re the Levi I know? Because Levi-I-Know is a stick-in-the-mud, bah-humbug type of person who doesn’t come to  _any_  of my Christmas parties. So are you sure you’re him? You can’t be joking with me now, because I got out of bed — well, kind of fell out, but that’s besides the point — for this phone call, so really, if you’re not Levi then —”

“I’m wearing the one that says ‘dashing through the snow, get the fuck out of my way.’”

Hanji’s quiet for a moment, then she hoops. “That’s my Levi! Even though it doesn’t say ‘get the fuck out of my way.’ I know, because I got that one from Wal-Mart, and you know how Wal-Mart has to stay kids-friendly. But anyway. Today at my place at seven. Don’t be late. And oh! Bring something for the Secret Santa Exchange. Anything between five and ten dollars is fine.”

“Got it.”

“And Levi?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Birthday.”

 _Click_.

He stays on the phone for a while afterwards, even though the drawn out  _beeeep_  indicates that Hanji had hung up.

 _Happy Birthday_.

Right.

His birthday’s on Christmas.

He’s a year older.

Which means he’s running out of time.

Leaving that thought in the wind, he tucks his phone into his pockets and turns toward the cafe where a large ‘OPEN TILL TWO TODAY’ sign hangs on the front door. He looks past that, and sees a lone figure wiping the counter tops while checking something on his phone. Levi takes a step back and wonders if he should even try, because what are the chances? They’ve been apart for two years now, and though everything was fine up until six months ago when Eren started working here, the distance between them still lingers. That chance might have passed up long ago.

But he wouldn’t know unless he tries.

So he lets it all go, he releases himself from the chains that strap him down, and he walks into the cafe. The bell jingles behind him when he enters, and at that moment, Eren looks up. His jaw slacks, his eyes widen, and when he finally gathers himself, he ends up dropping his phone and having to hastily pick it up with flushed cheeks. “Sorry,” he mutters as Levi steps up to the counter. “I just — I didn’t think —” He scratches the back of his neck, a sure sign of his nervousness. “It’s about time.”

Levi doesn’t know what to say himself. He wants to back down and back out, but he has this one chance, and goddamn, he’s not going to let it slip through his fingers.

“I know.” He knows it’s about time. It’s been six long months of walking by this cafe, stopping periodically to think about going in — but he never could, because he didn’t know what to expect.

He still doesn’t know what to expect, but that’s all right. Even if Eren tells him no, even if Eren chases him away, it’s all right.  _It’s okay_ , because at least he tried.

“You’re around here a lot,” Eren says, making it apparent that he has seen Levi loitering about (much to Levi’s embarrassment).

“So are you.”

“I work here.”

Well.

That makes sense.

Levi wants to walk himself out or turn invisible, preferably, but he stands his ground and tries his best to bat away the heat that’s burning the tips of his ears.

“They made you work on Christmas?”

“I need the money.”

“For rent?” Stupid question, but Levi and Eren both know he’s shit at conversation anyway.

Eren puts his phone face-down on the counter. “For uh — for art school. I got accepted to Shiganshina.”

“Oh.” Levi wants to chastise Eren for not telling him about this major step in his life, but he supposes being out of contact for two years cuts off any sort of 4 a.m. celebratory call.

“Do you want a drink or something? I can make anything on the menu. -- I can make latte art?” And there’s that fucking cute as fuck hipster trash smile that’s the reason Levi started noticing Eren in the first place.

“Any latte’s fine.” He looks over at the menu and takes two seconds to decide on what he wants. “And I’ll have one of the blueberry muffins.” He’s had enough of toast and bananas for breakfast.

He ends up leaving at closing with a dinner date scheduled for the 27th and a renewed sense of satisfaction. It’s only two in the afternoon, and he feels as if he’s been more productive today than he has been in the past year. Though the feeling’s nice for the moment being, he knows it’s not over yet. He has so much more to do — so many ambitions to pursue, so many goals to accomplish. And even if he’s blind to the future now, he knows something for certain:  _he’s going to be happy_.

That evening, he goes to Hanji’s party, and everyone greets him as if he hasn’t skipped the last four parties. They talk for a little bit in the living room, then Hanji leads them all to the kitchen where streamers start flying and horns start tooting. Everyone’s voices join in on an off-key version of  _Happy Birthday to You!_  His first thought is to sing along, but once he realizes that everyone’s looking at him, and that stupid song they’re singing is for  _him_ , his chest and cheeks warm.

These folks — his friends and acquaintances — are good people. He knows this because, even though he has fallen out of contact with the majority of them, they still haven’t forgotten him.

He’s really not alone, after all.

He’s never been alone.

When they cut into the cake and everyone starts getting themselves a slice, he pulls Hanji aside and thanks her for this, because he knows that this is all from her.

She corrects him. “After you called, I told everyone that you’re coming. I only bought the cake, they brought the gifts.”

And that's that.

Everything afterwards comes together.

Two days later, he goes on the dinner date with Eren.

A week following that, he finds a part-time job working under Mike. It doesn’t pay as much as Smith & Smith’s, but he accepts it for the time being while looking for a more stable occupation.

He continues to visit Eren when he can, and the one time he goes in when no customers are about, Eren makes latte art for him. When he slides the cup over, Levi sees the outline of a sun smiling up at him amidst the foam.

“Sunshine,” he says, peering up just in time to see Eren hide his grin.

Weeks pass.

Then months.

Christmas comes around again. Erwin doesn’t visit him this time, so Levi decides to visit him instead.

He lays the flowers down on the grave and lets his fingers trail off the plastic stems onto the headstone. It’s been a little over a year now, but it’s been long enough for him to change.

It's been long enough for him to not only survive but  _live_.

“I’m happy,” he tells Erwin, “and I hope you are too.”

When he stands, the person next to him reaches out and intertwines their fingers with his. He holds onto that heat, that sense of comfort, and then he turns away from the gravestone.

“Come on, Eren,” he says. “We’ll be late for Hanji’s.”

**Author's Note:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!! HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT ONE & THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT THIS YEAR ♥ also yes, i make references to my other fics when i can lmao [komlin/herlovely @ tumblr]


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